


Quid Pro Quo

by jive



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Creampie, Edgeplay, Fight Sex, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Interrogation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Bottom Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jive/pseuds/jive
Summary: “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jack?!” he spits.Jack says nothing, but when he pulls back to sit himself atop of Gabriel — panting like he’d just run a marathon — his shit-eating grin and the pressure around Gabriel’s own wrists says more than enough. Gabriel moves his arms, but they do not budge from over his head, stopped quickly by a yanking clatter. He looks up, and growls with irritation at his own incompetence when he sees his own arms handcuffed to the reinforced bar bolted to the table itself.“Interrogating you,” Jack replies.Jack needs information; Gabriel proposes a mutually beneficial exchange.





	1. // Outskirts of [REDACTED] - 02:32

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for my dear Petitecreme ([tumblr](https://petitecreme.tumblr.com/)|[twitter](http://twitter.com/gemsheldrake))! Takes place in her [Neon Noire AU](https://petitecreme.tumblr.com/search/neon+noir).
> 
> Many thanks to [Laur](http://laur-rants.tumblr.com/) and [Ori](http://oricalcon.tumblr.com/) for their wonderful help in beta~

One would think, with all the screams and shouting and gunshots ringing through the air and echoing from the alleyway, that police would be rushing to the scene, desperate to break up whatever shootout-scuffle was going down in the warehouse district. But you’d be wrong. The police only ever show up when the rich and wealthy make enough complaints and flaunt their gaudy, bejeweled hands, and snap their fingers - ringed with gems that cost more than several years’ worth of pay for even the most seasoned officer - and demand that they do their jobs. And tonight, not a single soul would dare call the attention of the police, not when it’s the upper-class themselves that are making a mess of the warehouse district, filling the otherwise foggy and droll night air with the thunderous sounds of music, glaring lightning streaks of neon lights, and the stench of sweat, sex, booze, and alcohol in the form of one oppressive cloud that covers the span of several blocks.

It’s the night of unrivaled, uncontrolled, decadent chaos, and not even the rich and powerful — utterly drowning themselves in orgies and alcohol — would even bother batting an eye at something so droll as a gunfight, so long as the rabble kept it outside and away from their drug-hazed eyes.

Not that the shooting lasted all that long anyway.

The final shot rings out in the alleyway only minutes after the first had announced the start of  — what could only ever be described by those who did not witness the fight for themselves but only heard the noises — a literal whirlwinding hailstorm of bullets, and just as quickly as the war in the alleyway had begun, it falls into a dead silence.

A man- no, _a Soldier_ , decked in a gaudy motorcycle jacket emblazoned with the number 76, groans as he stands, the fingers of his bloodied gloves letting go of the black lapel of the man he had beaten half to death only moments before. The unconscious body drops to the ground with an audible thud, and the Soldier stands fully upright, rolling his shoulders and grumbling as he surveys the scene around him. Bodies of men and women litter the concrete, each and every one looking merely injured at the very best, and near death’s door at the very worst.

They're battered and unconscious — bruises and cuts and blood all over their faces, pristine, black and white suits ripped and singed and thrown into disarray, some with bloody holes torn into them — with guns and knives and various weapons of all shapes and kinds littering the area around them. The Soldier himself doesn't look all that much better than the goons on the ground, his own signature jacket torn, and with injuries of his own staining his clothes a deep, bloody scarlet. His visor is cracked, and though the cut above his eye has mostly caked over, a lone,wet, bright crimson streak still trickles down from it, painting a line down what can be seen of his face between what remains of his damaged mask. Labored breaths pant quietly from behind it, small puffs of condensation leaking out from the cracks like steam from the broken seals of pipes, and when the Soldier hears the hitched, hushed yet angry curses of one unfortunate soul that somehow retained consciousness through all of the fighting, his head snaps up, alert and ready to strike.

A bloody, bruised, and battered hand - some bones visibly broken - reaches towards a discarded phone, inching weakly along the wet concrete, and just as a trembling fingertip makes contact with the glass screen, a heavy metal-plated boot stomps across already-battered knuckles without any sort of mercy.

A crunch, and a shriek echoes through the air for the briefest moment, barely audible to anyone beyond the alley over the deafening music blaring from the warehouse.

“One last time! Who sent you?! Lumerico? Vishkar? Lucheng?!” the Soldier demands, growling as he bends down to seize the man by his already-torn lapel. He shakes his fist angrily, jostling the battered man beneath him.

The man, as expected, gives him no answer, choosing to spit blood and what one could only assume are the cracked, chipped remnants of a tooth into the Soldier’s face.

"Fuck you,” he hisses, and almost immediately, something smashes against the side of the Soldier’s head.

A sickening crack echoes in the alley, quickly followed by a groan and the clattering of more broken visor pieces falling to the pavement.

The Soldier drops the man, reeling backward from the blow. He clutches his head, and topples against the wall as he tries to steady himself in the several seconds it takes for his vision -- fluctuating between black and blurry — to right itself. Seconds feel like hours, and for a brief moment, terror grips the Soldier’s chest in his moment of vulnerability. As soon as he recovers, he frantically looks for the man he just let go, growling when he sees the man standing over the body of one of his fallen colleagues — as much as one could expect someone in his condition to stand up, at least — with a broken piece of concrete gripped by the hand that had escaped the brutal treatment its counterpart suffered from the hard metal and rubber sole of heavy boots just moments earlier.

In the man's other hand is a gun, the likes of which the Soldier has never seen before, and despite the shaky grip — not even close to what one could ever consider steady given the completely broken state of some of the man’s fingers, barely able to hold the gun properly — and the end trained on him with the lone, intact finger square on the trigger.

There is no time to react. The Soldier's eyes widen in realization just as the gun is fired.

The Soldier expects, at best, to be pierced through with a bullet, and explosive pain ripping through his body from the point of impact — the same kind of pain he's felt countless of  dozens of times in his life. At worst, he expects to feel nothing at all should that very bullet find itself launched into a very unlucky trajectory and meet him directly between the eyes.

What he doesn't expect, however, is to feel  countless volts of electricity burning through his body, that send him  him crumpling to the ground. Paralyzed with pain, the Soldier is unable to move, — not even able to scream —  and can only watch helplessly as the his assailant walks over to loom above his crumpled, twitching form. Weakly, the Soldier looks up, vision blurred from his own tears of pain, as a shadow of black smoke appears almost out of thin air behind him.

The thick, viscous mist coalesces into a solid form, and begins to cover and envelop him, creeping up his body like a heavy, oppressive blanket forming a cocoon around his convulsing body. His limbs lock into place, and the way the dark vapor continues to progress up his body, crawling up his neck and shoving itself in between the cracks of his mask to smother him should terrify him more than it does. But strangely enough, despite the searing pain of electricity still coursing through him, and the terrifying unnaturalness of the smoke smothering him, the Soldier finds himself laughing inwardly at his own foolishness, resignation overshadowing the fear that had gripped him just moments ago. And when, in his last remaining moments of consciousness, the Soldier sees a white, bird-like skull amongst a sea of black, a brief spark of amused realization flashes in his mind before it is quickly enveloped, snuffed, and consumed by the irresistible void.


	2. // UNKNOWN - UNKNOWN

Heavy boots thud against the stone floor, the sound reverberating across every surface as two figures venture down an empty corridor.

The mercenary known as Reaper, makes his way towards the Talon interrogation room, with a lowly grunt following close behind him.

“Short of torture, we've tried everything we could to make him talk, sir,” the grunt says, voice exasperated. “He won't tell us anything, only growls and snarls like some animal, and when we tried to take his mask off-”

Reaper cuts him off with a snorting laugh, “You idiots really think he'd go and let you do that so easily? Don't make me laugh.”

“Well, we needed to-”

A clawed hand rises from the Reaper’s side as they reach their destination, and before the grunt can even reach over to unlock the door, it slams against their chest, stopping them.

“Leave us. I'll handle this one alone,” Reaper says.

“But, sir, I-” the grunt begins to reply, only to immediately die in the grunt’s throat as Reaper’s claws dig into their body armor.

“ _Alone_ ,” Reaper repeats himself for emphasis.  The cracking sound of ceramic and polycarbonate plates giving way to the pressure from the diamond-tipped claws signals the sheer amount of strength held in Reaper’s grip, and realizing that even trying to give ‘no’ as the answer would only be an exercise in futility, the grunt merely nods.

“I said ‘ ** _leave_** **_us_** ’,” Reaper growls once more, voice low and rumbling. He digs his claws in deeper as he pushes the grunt back. It is only after they stumble backwards that Reaper’s grip relaxes from their front, revealing five deep gouges in the plating of their body armor, each punctuated with cracks that fissure from them, and the grunt lets out a small gasp of surprise at the sight.

“U-Understood, sir,” they answer, head nodding with even more vigor. They take several more steps backward before they turn and scamper away back from whence they and Reaper came. They stumble and falter for a moment as they run, tripping over themselves in their panic to get away. It isn't until Reaper hears the tell-tale boom of a heavy metal door closing followed by an almost deafening silence bereft of any sound of further footsteps that he opens the door to the room and steps inside.

The sense of bloodlust that hits him is almost palpable when he crosses the threshold, and Reaper ought to be surprised by what he sees: the three guards that had been stationed inside to keep watch on their prisoner lay strewn about the room, unconscious. One lays at the booted feet of the prisoner, another against the wall behind the prisoner's chair, and the third…

The third lays in heap across the room, beneath the wall-to-wall mirror with a visible body-sized spider-web fracture in the middle. Reaper takes note of the syringe that lays just a few feet away from the guard's hand, still full of some nasty purple concoction - Moira's, no doubt - and finds the corners of his own mouth turning downward beneath his mask.

He ought to be surprised, but he isn't, not at all. From what Reaper has seen, even with his arms handcuffed behind his back and tied to a chair, the prisoner has done much more in the past with far less available limbs to move; many, many, many more enemies in the room with him; and far more destructive results.

“For god’s sake,” Reaper says, sounding more exasperated than he had any real right to be, “you can't even sit still and behave for a few hours before you start getting violent?”

The prisoner — the infamous Soldier: 76, none other than Jack Morrison, the fallen Strike Commander of Overwatch — still seated and looking none worse for the wear than he did when Reaper had initially brought him in, finally turns to him. His eyes narrow into an almost venomous sneer. “You keep treating me like some kind of mad dog, I'm gonna act like one,” he growls. His gaze pointedly flickers in the direction of the syringe across the room, clearly blocked from his view by the table bolted to the floor of the room, before it goes back to boring hate-fueled holes into Reaper’s face.

“Let's stop the theatrics, Jack,” Reaper sighs, resting a hand on his hip as he lifts the other. The menacing, razor-sharp claws dissipate into a thick, pitch-black vapor, trailing across the room to the large mirror to seep into the small cracks of its  frame.

The irony of Reaper — also known as Gabriel Reyes, and one of the most dramatic people Jack has ever known — being the one to tell someone else to ‘stop with the theatrics’ doesn't escape Jack at all. It draws a hollow snort of amusement from him, but he doesn't dare take his eyes away from the hollows of that bone-white mask.

“You're one to talk, Gabriel,” Jack shoots back, nodding over to the mirror and whatever might be happening on the other side. He tips his chin at Reaper as well, as if the robed and hooded figure of Reaper himself further helps prove his point (which, in all fairness, not even Gabriel himself would argue).

A hum of acknowledgement rumbles from behind the mask, and without so much as batting an eye or breaking his locked gaze with Jack, Gabriel rolls his shoulder. The movement travels along his arm, and the tendril of smoke dissipates completely. It quickly reforms into a hand, gloved and clawed just like before, fingers waggling somewhat playfully before it drops back down to Gabriel's side.

“I beg to differ,” he replies, stepping closer to the adjacent side of the table. “Countless months of chasing you down and suddenly you just fall right in to Talon’s hands? Surely you don’t think you’re being subtle. What are you after, Jack?”

“What else would I be after? Information, Gabriel,” Jack growls, scowling from behind his broken visor.

“About…?”

“I heard rumors about a high-level weapons deal going down in Cagliari some time next month. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Even if I did, why on earth would I tell you?”

“Because-” Jack begins to say.

“And why do you even care, Jack? This sort of thing shouldn’t concern you anymore,” Gabriel interrupts, crossing his arms against his chest.

Jack lets out a noisy, frustrated sigh and looks to the ground. “Because I-” he starts again. He shifts in his seat, and as if suddenly discovering that he had been bound to a chair the entire time, lets out a noise of discomfort. He struggles for a bit, twisting his body before groaning and falling still. Frustration makes itself known in the crease of Jack's brow, and Jack grumbles wordlessly for a moment before letting out a tired sigh.

“Could you at least let me out of these damned things first?” he asks, glancing up at Gabriel. “I need information. I'm not going anywhere.”

“You want out of those cuffs, you can get yourself out of them. I know you can break those easily. You've done it before,” Gabriel replies flatly.

“That was years ago, Gabe. I'm not a young man anymore,” Jack shoots right back, his tone equally as unamused as Gabriel’s.

A sound of annoyance tuts from behind Gabriel’s mask, and with a flick of his wrist, a stray wisp of smoke curls from his form to flit behind Jack's back. Jack can’t see what it does, exactly, but he sure can feel it. The metal around his wrists shifts and wiggles, and with two quick clicks, the cuffs  around his wrist loosen behind the chair.

Before the cuffs so much as even clatter to the ground, however, Jack launches himself off of the chair, vaulting over the table to tackle Gabriel to the floor. It could be considered sheer luck that the two of them don't land on the any of the agents still littering the floor, but being more than well-versed in close-quarters combat, one could only assume that it was skillfully intentional, as neither one of them would be so clumsy as to put themselves at such an awkward disadvantage.

The moment Gabriel's back hits the cold, unforgiving floor, Jack moves to pin him down, attempting to flip him over and wrap an arm around his neck. The maneuver is easier planned than done, of course, as Gabriel manages to wedge an arm between the both of them. It makes just enough space to allow him to shift his leg, and he knees Jack in the stomach hard enough to force him off. Jack groans, and for a second, wheezes to catch his breath. Gabriel takes the opportunity to swing his leg and aim another kick, but Jack quickly parries the blow with an arm, ducking and stumbling backwards to avoid any follow-up from Gabriel.

The lack of space in the room does little to help Jack recover, and he collides with a chair, nearly falling over it to get out of Gabriel's reach. He curses, but quickly catches himself, using it as a point to vault back off of and lunge at Gabriel once more.

Gabriel instantaneously reacts, and steps into Jack's path, folding his arm and aiming his elbow outward. He swings it, far too quickly for Jack to avoid, and Gabriel can't help the grin that spreads on his face when Jack's face meets his elbow and a pained groan echoes in the room.

The remains of Jack's visor cracks and falls apart from the impact of Gabriel's elbow against Jack's jaw. The jagged pieces of red and black and silver go flying, pieces clattering against the walls, the tables, the floor, some even landing on the Talon agents still laying unconscious on the floor. They do not awaken, of course, not that either Jack or Gabriel had the luxury of sparing them a second of their attention. The two wrestle and grapple with each other viciously, each desperately fighting to gain the upper hand to overpower and subdue the other.

At some point, Jack returns the favor of Gabriel’s elbow meeting his face with reintroducing Gabriel to his own elbow, which collides with Gabriel’s bone white mask with enough force to knock it off of Gabriel’s face. It doesn’t shatter to pieces like Jack’s visor does, but it does fly across the room, smashing into the already-broken mirror and knocking another spiderweb of cracks into the polished but shattered surface. The impact against his head sends Gabriel’s vision reeling, and the few seconds he spends disoriented is enough for Jack to take advantage.

He hauls Gabriel to his feet by the front of his coat, and pushes him bodily onto the table with a loud shout of effort. Gabriel groans in pain and surprise, and before he can even register the need to push Jack off of him, Jack climbs on top of him, grabbing Gabriel by the wrist and pulling his arms up over his head. Gabriel struggles, of course, but with Jack’s hold on his wrists, and the awkward position in which he’s laying down on the table, back flat with his legs dangling off the edge of the table far enough to where he can’t get leverage with the backs of his thighs, but not far enough to where his feet could make any significant contact with the floor. He bucks and thrashes, but Jack is deceptively stronger and heavier than Gabriel would have assumed from just looking at him — not quite in the same form as he had been so many years ago, but still more than well above average — and Jack does not budge.

A series of metallic clatters and clicks chatter above his head, and in the brief instance Jack’s hand on his wrist are removed, his arm are pinned in place by a firm, heavy knee. The same happens to the other arm and hand, and Gabriel growls angrily.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jack?!” he spits.

Jack says nothing, but when he pulls back to sit himself atop of Gabriel — panting like he’d just run a marathon — his shit-eating grin and the pressure around Gabriel’s own wrists says more than enough. Gabriel moves his arms, but they do not budge from over his head, stopped quickly by a yanking clatter. He looks up, and growls with irritation at his own incompetence when he sees his own arms handcuffed to the reinforced bar bolted to the table itself.

“Interrogating you,” Jack replies.

“You can’t be serious,” Gabriel groans, eyes nearly rolling out of his head. Despite the situation, he continues to squirm and struggle against his bonds.

“I need that information, Gabriel,” Jack says again.

“With your skills - or lack thereof, Jack - you’d be better off interrogating one of these guards you knocked out. My lips are sealed.”

“I’m perfectly capable of interrogating someone, I’ve- What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jack interrupts himself to snap at Gabriel, whose movements have quickly evolved from merely squirming beneath Jack to get away to an undulation of his hips upward into Jack’s weight atop of him like-

The newly-realized hardness beneath him has Jack’s eyes widening in surprise and realization, and almost immediately, his expression of shock quickly changes to that of disgust. He grimaces, and Gabriel breaks out into a grin at the at sight of the sudden transformation.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack remarks, revolted and incredulous. “What the hell is wrong with you, Reyes? I’m trying to interrogate you, and you’re getting turned on by this?!”

“You’re the one who pinned me down, handcuffed me to a table, and then sat on top of me, Jackie. I’m just reacting to what you did to me,” Gabriel says. “Just like old times.”

Jack rolls his eyes, but makes no move to get up or change his position.

“And besides,” Gabriel continues, smugness dripping from every word, “I’m not the only one that’s enjoying this.” He nods towards Jack with his chin, eyes sliding down the length of Jack’s body to settle at his groin. Sure enough, there’s a tell-tale hardness pressing up from beneath the zipper of Jack’s fly. Jack tries to close his legs a little, but it does nothing, not when Gabriel’s already seen his own arousal.

“Should I turn the camera back on, boy scout? I know how being watched can really get you going. Brings back some rather interesting memories, doesn't it?” Gabriel snickers.

“More comments like that and I'll just pack my things and go. I'm sure Talon will be impressed to see one of their best mercs bested by some _wild dog_ that managed to escape,” Jack replies, turning back to glare at him.

“Big words, but you and I both know you're not going anywhere. Not when I'm the only lead you have right now,” Gabriel taunts.

Jack’s snarl falters for a moment before he shifts his stance, lifting himself off of Gabriel’s lap and shifting to all fours, redistributing his weight once more. He grips Gabriel’s wrists, his weight forcing him to apply even more pressure there. His palms dig in hard to the point where Jack can even feel his own hands start to hurt through the gloves. “Then speak up. Give me a name, Gabriel.”

“Your little tantrum of a threat isn’t going to loosen these lips, Jack, and we both know your methods of interrogating aren’t going to work on me. You want me to give you what you want, you’ve got to give me incentive to do it. _Quid pro quo._ ”

“That's entirely inappropriate.”

“The fact that sex is the first thing that pops into your head when I mention ‘ _incentive_ ’ speaks volumes, doesn't it?” Gabriel chuckles, “I could have been referring to information too.”

“Could have, but you and I both know you weren't,” Jack replies flatly, “Sex and baking were the only ways I could ever get you to do anything back then, and unless Talon has changed their interrogation tactics, there isn’t a kitchen anywhere close to us, now is there?”

“That’s a lie. I’d do things if you asked nicely,” Gabriel protests.

“Okay, then,” Jack says, sitting up and folding his arms. He takes a breath and attempts to make his voice as pleasant as possible, “Gabriel, will you please tell me where this arms deal is and who is involved?”

Gabriel only laughs at that, tilting his head back and cackling so hard that the table nearly shakes beneath the both of them.

Gabriel’s echoing laughter goes on for far too long for Jack’s liking, and fed up, he resorts to another tactic besides ‘asking nicely’ to get the information he needs out of Gabriel. He crawls backwards off of Gabriel’s lap and off the table, doing his best to ignore the almost obnoxiously loud guffaws erupting from the man still cuffed to the table.

The laughter only stops when Gabriel feels hands at his groin, one undoing the zipper of his pants while the other fishes his cock out from the opened fly. He glances down and barely catches a glimpse of Jack’s face before it’s eclipsed by his own white hair as he bends down to take Gabriel into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, taken completely off-guard by the feeling of warm, wet heat and coy bouts of suction around his cock. His erection had flagged during the amusing exchange he had with Jack just moments before, but it takes barely a few moments of Jack’s head bobbing along his shaft and hands stroking at his base to get Gabriel fully aroused again. Were he much a much younger man, with much less experience in his life, and much less security about himself as he is right now, Gabriel would be almost embarrassed to admit how long it has been since he had been with anyone sexually — let alone had someone’s mouth around his cock — and just how quickly Jack’s antics get his motor running so to speak.

Barely a minute passes of Jack ministrations — mouth nursing at his tip, sucking the fat, fleshy head as his tongue flicks and prods at Gabriel’s leaking slit, and hands reaching down to fondle Gabriel’s slowly tightening testicles — before Gabriel feels his cock begin to twitch and throb between Jack’s lips. His hands ball into fists above his head, and he does everything he can to try to make it last. He thinks of the ridiculousness of the situation: how he’s in an interrogation room with several unconscious agents laying about; how angry his superiors would be to discover what was actually happening between Reaper and their prisoner; and how-

His train of thought more or less crashes and is completely derailed when Jack’s ‘interrogation tactics’ intensify. He feels Jack’s mouth pull off of his cock with a pop, and upon hearing a loud crack — one Gabriel distinctly recognizes as the sound of Jack cracking his neck — Gabriel’s eyes fly open in realization and he sucks in a deep breath as he looks down to watch, the coil of arousal in his gut twitching and twisting in anticipation.

Sure enough, Jack’s mouth engulfs him once again, this time, completely. Gabriel feels Jack’s mouth sink down onto his dick until its head hits the back of Jack’s throat, pause for a split second, and then _keep going_. Jack doesn’t stop sinking his head down onto Gabriel’s cock until his lips are around the very base and his nose is pressed against Gabriel’s pubic bone. He pauses for a moment, holding the position and taking in the sounds of Gabriel’s moans beneath him with a sense of smug accomplishment, before he relaxes his jaw and begins to pull backwards.

The feel of Jack’s throat tightening around him as he pulls away is mind-blowing, to say the very least, and Gabriel’s body fights the urge to both arch off of the table and jackknife forward in pleasure when Jack pulls back to where Gabriel’s tip is the only part of him still between his lips, takes a breath, and then surges back forward to fuck his throat onto Gabriel’s throbbing prick.

Over and over and over, Jack takes Gabriel into his mouth and throat, bobbing and swallowing in an almost predictably unpredictable rhythm, sucking and slurping and moaning around Gabriel’s length and sending ripples of pleasure throughout Gabriel’s body.

That is, until he pulls off completely with a pop and a loud gasp.

“Tell me,” Jack rasps, panting for breath.

Gabriel’s cock twitches and throbs less than an inch from his chin, Gabriel’s own breathing slightly more labored than before, but he merely grins and remains silent.

A frustrated noise rumbles from Jack’s throat, and he shoots Gabriel a glare before he resumes his task.

His hand strokes at Gabriel’s length for several moments, squeezing the shaft tightly as his hand twists this way and that as it moves, and once Jack catches his breath, he sinks his mouth down onto Gabriel’s cock another time.

There’s no hesitation this time when Gabriel’s tip penetrates his throat, and just like before, Jack fucks himself onto Gabriel’s cock without abandon.

In and out.

In and out.

Gabriel’s heavy length throbs and twitches with each movement, gushes of precum spurting from his tip every time Jack sinks down completely and swallows and moans around him. His own noises of pleasure grow louder and more and more frequent, despite his own attempts to control them, and when Jack pulls off suddenly once more, right as Gabriel feels himself begin to teeter near the edge of climax, he bites down on his lips to silence the shout of protest that threatens to erupt from his mouth.

“ _A name_ ,” Jack growls, fingers clenched like a vice around Gabriel's cock.

Gabriel only scoffs in reply, tipping his head back in amusement at how desperately Jack is trying to act like he isn’t on his knees with another man’s prick in his grip and dribbles of spit and precum on his chin. And despite at how Jack’s actions have clearly affected him, a chuckle erupts from Gabriel’s throat, “You’ll have to do better than that, Jack. Much, _much_ better. We’ve only just gotten started, and you know it. I’m nowhere close to where I need to be for that kind of tactic to work.”

Jack narrows his eyes, glaring daggers at Gabriel — clearly trying his best to look as menacing and threatening as possible but to no avail due to the pretty rosy flush staining his cheeks — before he resumes his work. Still on his knees, he shifts in place to ease the discomfort in his legs before he ducks his head back down to take Gabriel back into his mouth. Warm wet heat envelops the tip Gabriel’s cock once more, and with a rumbling moan, Gabriel tips his head back in pleasure as Jack’s lips engulf him again.

The determined and deliberate movements of Jack’s tongue on him returns, lapping and stroking against his head, and flicking against every sensitive ridge. Gabriel feels his cock twitch in Jack’s grasp, more and more blurts of precum undoubtedly leaking into Jack’s mouth, and he groans excitedly at how quickly Jack’s tongue is to swipe it clean from his slit. Hesitantly, Jack’s head begins to bob along his shaft, gradually taking more and more of Gabriel’s cock into that delicious heat, and just as those lips reach halfway down Gabriel’s shaft, Jack’s rhythmic movements falter. His mouth falls still around Gabriel’s length for a brief moment, and acutely aware of Jack at his feet, Gabriel can almost sense and feel Jack shifting in place, clearly agitated.

A grin forms on his face again, even after Jack swallows him down several more times before pulling away completely once more.

He looks up at Gabriel expectantly, clearly flustered and even more out of breath than before.

“Nice try, old man. Maybe it’s time for another method,” Gabriel laughs.

Jack grumbles quietly under his breath, low enough that Gabriel can make out none of the words, but he knows none of them are likely to be particularly flattering to him in any way, and moves backwards to put some distance between the both of them. He stands upright, stares at Gabriel as if appraising him for a few moments, and gives a small sigh before he unzips the rest of his jacket and puts his hands on his own belt.

Slowly, slowly, slowly. Almost far too slowly for Gabriel’s liking, Jack slowly removes the clothes on his lower half. The belt is the first to come undone; the leather hisses as it slips through the buckle, and Gabriel’s tongue unconsciously slips out to wet his lip when Jack’s scarred hands reach for his fly. Deft fingers slip the button out of its hole and pull the slider down the zipper almost torturously slow. Teasingly, the two pieces of fabric of Jack’s fly remain closed, and before Gabriel can even get a peek at what kind of underwear might lay beneath them, Jack tugs everything downwards. Everything falls to the ground with a thud, and as Gabriel tries to parse how he feels about the idea that Jack might not have had any underwear beneath to show him at all, Jack works on taking his boots off.

It doesn’t take long for every piece of clothing to be removed from Jack’s lower body. Gabriel’s eyes drift down to look between bare, pale thighs as Jack stands upright once more, and a sense of self-satisfaction blooms in his chest. The sight of Jack’s cock standing at attention with a tell-tale thread of pre-cum dripping down from its pinkened head and in stark contrast to the black of Jack’s shirt, is more than enough for Gabriel to know just how affected Jack is by his own actions.  

“Speaking of time, I guess I can give you a small reward for your efforts so far,” Gabriel hums in amusement. Jack raises an eyebrow expectantly as he pulls away, and rests his weight on his ass with his knees folded beneath him. “The time this deal is supposed to take place is 0300.”

“0300? That’s it?” Jack asks, tone clearly incredulous.

“Jack, if you seriously think I’d spill out every juicy detail just like that because you rustled my jimmies a little… Please,” Gabriel scoffs, “You’ve either lost your mind or your touch when it comes to interrogations. What happened, Jackie? Is the mad dog really all bark and no bite?”

“No, I just thought there might be a chance you’d be as easy as you used to be,” Jack shoots back, “I distinctly remember a few times when your mouth was as loose in bed as I was.”

Gabriel frowns at that, ready to shoot back another reply when Jack climbing back on top of him quickly interrupts his train of thought. Pale legs frame his hips, and a pleasured moan rumbles from Gabriel’s throat at the feel of Jack’s gun-calloused fingers wrapping around his cock once again. They squeeze his length teasingly, rubbing at his head, stroking at his shaft enough times for Gabriel’s eyes to drift shut in pleasure.

He doesn’t see Jack’s other hand fish a small bottle out from the inner pocket of his jacket, but he does jolt and give a shout of protest when Jack pours some of the contents directly over the head of his prick without any form of warning.

“-The fuck?” he hisses, eyes snapping open at the sudden deluge of coldness.

“Whoops,” Jack says flatly. His hand continues to work, making sure what Gabriel realizes now is lube thoroughly coats every bit of Gabriel’s cock. “You’ll get over it in a second anyway.”

Gabriel doesn’t even need to ask what Jack means by that, not when Jack tucks the small bottle back into his jacket and shifts his position. He kneels up and braces himself on Gabriel’s abdomen with his free hand, adjusting his grip of Gabriel’s dick to aim it between his cheeks. Gabriel can feel the heat rise a little more in his chest at the thought of Jack’s entrance being mere millimeters away from his tip, only to be quickly quashed by a realization.

“If you think I'm just going to let you do that without washing yourself first…” Gabriel remarks, nose crinkled in disgust and cock flagging a little despite Jack's grip on it.

“I'm prepped,” Jack replies almost immediately.

Gabriel raises a brow at that, opening his mouth to ask ‘why’, exactly, when Jack answers him before he even has a chance.

“Was running low on cash, and II wasn’t exactly planning on getting jumped by Talon goons tonight,” Jack says, his voice tense.

He pointedly avoids making eye contact with Gabriel, and resumes what he had been doing just moments earlier, putting the lid on that discussion. His grip on Gabriel adjusts once again, and carefully situating himself, Jack positions his entrance directly against the head of Gabriel’s cock, pushing down little by little until the puckered rim yields ever so slightly to the pressure.. Gabriel inhales through teeth reflexively at the sensation, body tensing in eager anticipation.

“Last chance to just tell me what I need to-”

Gabriel snaps, clearly impatient, “For god’s sake, Morrison, are you going to interrogate me properly or-”

Jack gives him no opportunity to even finish that sentence, dropping down and seating himself completely onto Gabriel’s cock, and forcing a shocked moan to erupt from Gabriel’s mouth. Jack bites his own lip at the sudden intrusion as well. Despite having been the one in complete control of how quickly Gabriel’s heated length fucked into him, Jack’s own body twitches and shakes in shock. The sudden pressure of being filled so abruptly and completely is euphoric, to say the very least, and Jack has to force himself to blink the stars out of his eyes at the sensation of Gabriel’s plush head pressing against the deepest parts of him.

“Fuck…” Gabriel moans beneath him, the lone syllable so long and drawn out that Jack is acutely aware of how his own sighing breath through his nose is synchronized with it.

He can feel Gabriel throbbing within him, see the way Gabriel is struggling not to writhe beneath him, and senses how desperately Gabriel is fighting to keep his composure — Jack swears he sees Gabriel’s eyes flash red and the solid form of his hands blur into smoke around the edges — and the understanding that he is the one to have caused all of this fills his chest with a heady sense of pride.

“Tell me, Gabriel. Tell me about the deal,” Jack says, somehow managing to sound like he isn’t as excited and aroused at the feeling of Gabriel inside of him as he is.

“Not a chance,” Gabriel manages to hiss before his head tips back with a strangled groan.

Jack frowns slightly at that, not that he had any expectation of Gabriel cracking so quickly or easily, and tries to ignore the sense of giddiness that begins to bubble inside of him at the thought of how completely at his mercy Gabriel is beneath him.

He places his hands against Gabriel’s torso, bracing himself, and begins to move.

Up and down, in and out.

Jack’s hips begin to rock in a shaky, unsteady rhythm at first, forcing Gabriel to fuck his entrance with each and every movement. It takes a while for Jack’s body to reacquaint itself with the size of the intrusion, and the feeling of a fat, fleshy head rubbing against its sensitive prostate, but once Jack finally calms himself and focuses on his mission rather than the sensations of what he’s doing, he rides Gabriel’s cock with little abandon.

Sure enough, Gabriel does little than moan and writhe beneath him, unable to escape Jack’s ministrations. He curses under his breath, and nearly shouts in agonizing pleasure when Jack’s hips suddenly stop and the hot, wet heat that had been fucking itself onto him is suddenly replaced with the almost painfully cold sensation of the air inside the room tingling against the lubrication coating his cock.

“Tell me!” Jack says again, voice cracking ever so slightly.

Once more, Gabriel remains silent, forcing himself to grin despite how painfully Jack’s actions have his cock and balls aching in desperation.

Jack growls, clearly frustrated, spends several moments of glaring at Gabriel. It buys him enough time to calm himself down, and once more, Jack sinks back down onto Gabriel’s cock, desperately fighting the reflex to clench around the heavy presence inside of him, to arch his back and agitate the most sensitive parts of his inner walls, and to chase his own pleasure to the very ends of his own climax.

But in those same moments of stillness, so too does Gabriel’s arousal abate, and feeling the tension coiled up in Gabriel’s body slacken a bit, Jack begins to move again. His hips rock in a different pattern than before, moving in figure 8s as he bucks back and forth, up and down, unrelenting in his movements. The movement of his body against Gabriel’s is punishing, almost, and every collision of Jack’s ass against Gabriel’s cock is accompanied by a wet, slapping noise that echoes in the interrogation room.

Before long, Gabriel finds himself teetering near the edge again, and Jack pulls away yet again. This time, however, he leans down close to Gabriel, faces mere millimeters away from each other and their hot, panting breaths mingling into one, single heated sigh.

“Location. Tell me where,” Jack growls, sucking on Gabriel’s lower lip and sinking his teeth in just enough to scrape at the thin flesh and sting painfully as he pulls away, “Where at 0300?”

Gabriel groans beneath him, attempting to arch up off of the table and buck himself inside of Jack’s heat again. His efforts are firmly thwarted by his awkward position on the table, unable to get any sort of leverage with Jack’s hands holding his torso firmly in place as he crouches atop Gabriel’s thighs like some sort of lewd perch. Gabriel can only imagine how ridiculous Jack looks positioned atop him, ass slicked with lube and traces of Gabriel’s pre-cum, squatting like a frog and naked from the waist down - not that Gabriel himself looks any better, with his dick standing at attention, wet, throbbing, and twitching in the cold air of the interrogation room, inches away from Jack’s ass - but the imagery does little to quell the need that burns inside of him.

“Sa Scafa…” Gabriel manages to grit out, reluctant. “Ponte di Sa Scafa.”

Jack does not budge for several moments, doing little more than staring at Gabriel dubiously as if questioning the truth to his answer. His eyes are cold and menacing, just like before, and as shameful as it might be for Gabriel to admit it, the steeliness of Jack’s gaze sends delightful shivers down his spine. He doesn’t dare squirm or move as Jack assesses him, and after what feels like a staring contest that lasts almost an eternity, Jack adjusts his position atop of Gabriel again.

A moan of relief and pleasure rumbles from Gabriel’s throat as Jack sinks back down onto his cock, and Gabriel can only assume from the way Jack bites down on his own lip that he’s holding back noises of his own. Just as quickly as that almost oppressively pleasurable heat envelopes his cock in its entirety once more, it pulls away and the rhythmic movement of Jack’s hips atop his continue.

In and out.

Back and forth.

In and out.

Back and forth.

Jack pants and groans in time with every rock of his pale hips against Gabriel’s own, and every so often, he angles his hips in the wrong - or rather, exactly the right - way, and the steady pattern of movement stutters with a full-body jolt and a hitched, gasping moan that slips from between Jack’s lips. It’s intoxicating, watching such a powerful, nigh-untameable man such as Jack chase Gabriel’s pleasure like this while oh-so desperately staving off his own, and Gabriel steadily feels the tension in his gut tighten up even further in arousal.

The desperate movements of Jack’s hips grow even more urgent and fevered, and before long, Gabriel finds himself moaning to the same rhythm, arching and squirming beneath Jack in futile attempts to chase even more pleasure.

He’s almost there, moans of pleasure and delight rumbling louder and more unbridled until suddenly-

Jack pulls off of him completely once again, and Gabriel’s body nearly jackknifes beneath him.

An angry shout explodes from Gabriel’s mouth. He was so close! He knows he’s playing into Jack’s hand by playing this exact game, but…

“A name,” Jack says this time. His own labored breaths, dripping cock, and shaking legs betray the air of control he tries to demonstrate, and Gabriel licks his lips at just how the low rumble of Jack’s demand has his balls aching and cock throbbing even harder. “Give me a name!”

“You want the name of who’s running the deal?” Gabriel asks, all but sneering in delight at the obviousness of Jack’s own desperation. “Then you’ll have to take it from me.”

Jack almost visibly snaps at that, and without so much as blinking, seats Gabriel within him once again.

This time, however, he rides Gabriel without mercy.

Over and over and over again, he fucks himself on Gabriel’s length with only one goal in mind, to milk a name out of Gabriel’s lips, all the while fighting his own orgasm that seems to be looming ever and ever closer.

The moans and noises of pleasure that spill from both of their mouths grow louder and more frequent until Gabriel is nearly shaking in pleasure, and for one last time, Jack pulls off, nearly splitting his own lip from how hard he bites down into it to stifle his own desperate cry.

“ **Antonio!** ” Gabriel nearly screams completely unprompted. “ **Antonio Giordani!** ” He writhes and arches beneath Jack, body twitching from the sudden lack of anything around his aching cock. He whimpers as he bucks his hips upward, desperate to feel Jack’s heat around him once again and looking utterly agonized by every passing second that he's denied.

“Good boy,” Jack says, reaching down to pat Gabriel on the face before he sinks down one final time back onto Gabriel's desperate dick.

Gabriel makes a strangled noise beneath him, somewhere in between tortured and grateful and agonized and euphoric, and after several more movements from Jack's hips against his own, Gabriel arches up from beneath Jack and lets out one final harsh cry.

Jack moans as Gabriel shakes beneath him in orgasm, delighting in the feel of Gabriel's cock twitching and throbbing inside him in, and the rush of satisfaction from being the one to have made the Reaper shout and moan and cry from his interrogation methods. He remains still as Gabriel continues to climax beneath him, only moving to shift slightly at the feeling of cum threatening to leak from his hole when it finally ends. Gabriel collapses bonelessly beneath him like a puppet suddenly without its strings, and Jack can only laugh at the sight.

“That wasn't so hard, now was it?” Jack asks, the smugness that drips from his voice slightly dampened by his own heaving pants that sound like he had just run a marathon.

“I can’t believe you had me moan another man’s name while I came,” Gabriel almost-pouts.

“If you’d just told me from the get-go…” Jack grumbles, panting to catch his breath.

“What, and miss all this?” Gabriel asks, sitting up. The black smoke from before returns, billowing between their bodies to form into Gabriel’s clawed, gloved hands. One takes hold of Jack’s hip, while the other wraps around Jack’s length, still hard and red and leaking.

Still seated in Gabriel’s lap, Jack jolts with a gasp, clenching around Gabriel’s slowly softening cock and eliciting a pleased rumble from Gabriel’s own throat. Jack’s own hand grips at Gabriel’s arm, but does nothing to stop the hand from beginning to move. Slowly but firmly, Gabriel begins to stroke Jack’s cock, drinking in the sight and sound of Jack losing himself in pleasure once more. Each twist of his wrist, squeeze of his grip, flick of his thumb against Jack’s tip elicits a different response from Jack’s body, and Gabriel delights himself in each and every one. As the movements of Gabriel’s hand become more and more and more deliberate in their efforts, Jack is pushed further and further towards the edge, the pleasure building in his body like a flame being fanned and fed. He shakes and squirms where he's seated, hands braced against Gabriel's shoulders and fingers curling and digging deep as if clinging on for dear life.

It doesn’t take much longer for Jack to reach his peak and freefall over the edge into his climax. Jack cums with a shout that is quickly cut off by a forceful tug that yanks his torso downwards, and before Jack even knows it, his chest presses against Gabriel's, and his mouth is quickly engulfed with Gabriel’s own. His noises devolve into little more than moans of pleasure that Gabriel more or less swallows, his tongue slipping in between Jack's lips to caress Jack's own as Jack's cock throbs and twitches in Gabriel’s firm grip.

The bitter and almost-sour taste of Gabriel's own pre-cum lingering in Jack's mouth hits his tongue, and Gabriel echoes Jack's pleasured moaning with his own. Ropes of milky opaqueness jet from Jack's prick, sending streaks of white splattering between and across the two of them in stark contrast to their jet-black clothes. Jack’s body trembles and clenches with each pulse of his orgasm, and although his cock has since softened, Gabriel still moans at the sensation of Jack tightening around him. It's almost enough to get him hard again.

Almost.

As soon as his orgasm fades, Jack shoves against Gabriel's shoulders, pulling his face away from Gabriel's and wiping his kiss-swollen lips of the strand of saliva that connects his mouth and Gabriel's. He shifts for a moment, visibly wincing and grimacing before climbing off of Gabriel’s lap completely. Gabriel frowns at the loss of Jack’s body heat atop him and around him, but stays seated atop the table, tucking himself back in when Jack goes to pick his clothes up from the floor.

“Shit, now I need to get out of here with cum in my ass and on my shirt,” Jack grumbles, squirming slightly at the feeling of Gabriel’s fluids leaking out of him and down the insides of his thighs. He pulls at his black shirt to asses the damage, nose wrinkling at the sight of the streaks of milky white now staining the fabric.

“You’re the one to decided to fuck the information out of me,” Gabriel comments, fishing a handkerchief from one of the shotgun shells on his chest and tossing it over. Jack deftly catches the fabric, saying nothing as he uses it to wipe at his ass and thighs before stepping back into his boots and pulling his pants back up.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just told me what I needed to know,” Jack shoots back as he finishes buckling his belt. He tosses the dirty handkerchief at Gabriel, still seated on the table, and zips his jacket back up.

“You and I both know you would have figured it all out from somewhere else eventually anyway,” Gabriel replies. He makes a disgusted face as he catches the handkerchief, though he tucks it back into the shotgun shell to dispose of later.

“‘Eventually’, isn’t good nor soon enough,” Jack grumbles. “Anyway, thanks for the intel.”

“You didn’t hear anything from me, so I don’t know why you’re thanking me,” Gabriel says, crossing his arms.

“Whatever.” Jack makes his way to the door, stopping briefly to glance at the broken pieces of his mask scattered around the room, and the broken mirror wall. He turns to Gabriel, clearly wanting to say something about them, but quickly changes his mind, shaking his head as he turns the handle of the door. “See you around, Gabriel.”

“Not anytime soon, I hope,” Gabriel replies, watching Jack step out. “If the next time I see you is in a body bag, I won’t forgive you, Jack.”

“Yeah yeah.”

The door swings shut behind him, and Gabriel listens for the sounds of Jack’s hurried footsteps to echo down the hall and the loud clattering and booming noises of the doors being open and shut before he reaches up to tap at the communicator in his ear.

“Sombra. Wipe the tapes and replace the security footage. It's time for clean up,” he says.

“Clean up? That’s disgusting. I’m not helping you clean anything in there,” comes the reply.

“ _Sombra_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Sombra says, and Gabriel can almost hear how her eyes are likely rolling in her head as she answers him. “You know, if you two lovebirds would just go to couples counseling, things wouldn't have to get so disgusting and messy all the time… ”

“Just get to work.”

“Fine, _Gabe_.”

“I told you not to call me that.”


End file.
